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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26888167">well, I ain't frontin' my intention (got your man outlined in chalk)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meteorblaze/pseuds/Meteorblaze'>Meteorblaze</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Gen, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Mentioned Skip Westcott, Peter Parker is a Witch, Spiders, alexa play witches by daughter, idk but it's very funny to write, kinda sorta, may parker is a witch, mentioned animal death, tony stark unabashedly flirting with may and peter Not Being Amused, well not so much flirting just him being a flirt i guess</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:27:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,598</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26888167</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meteorblaze/pseuds/Meteorblaze</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"What's your secret, kid?"</p><p>Peter rubs at his face. "It's- it's not exactly what you'd call conventional."<br/>-----------------<br/>In which Peter Parker, vigilante-witch extraordinaire, meets a certain Tony Stark and makes a deal.</p><p>(Rewritten as of 11/25/20)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>May Parker (Spider-Man) &amp; Peter Parker, May Parker (Spider-Man) &amp; Peter Parker &amp; Tony Stark, Peter Parker &amp; Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>156</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>well, I ain't frontin' my intention (got your man outlined in chalk)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22452271">a story about morally-grey misunderstood witches</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHarleyQueen/pseuds/TheHarleyQueen">TheHarleyQueen</a>.
        </li>
        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/19078486">the world is not kind</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trickster88/pseuds/Trickster88">Trickster88</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hey hey hey!! so, ive thought some more about this au, ive got some more fics in the making, but they're a bit slower, so as a quick break i decided to rewrite this. title from 'sit next to me' by foster the people, which is a bomb-ass song and everyone should listen to it</p><p>there are a few TWs i wanna get out of the way, so please feel free to click away if any of these apply to you. they're only mentioned for a brief second, but please stay safe!!!<br/>attempted suicide<br/>skip wescott/westcott, however you spell it<br/>animal death<br/>drinking<br/>jk rowling<br/>terfs</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Peter steps out of the creaky elevator doors bopping to the music playing in his earbuds, pushing his scotch-taped glasses further up his nose with one hand and the other gripping the acorn he’d found outside in his pocket. It was a lucky find, too, since there are approximately twenty trees in all of New York and several of them far away from Forest Hills, Queens. </p><p> </p><p>The irony of that statement is certainly not lost on him.</p><p> </p><p>He’d been feeling a bit off all day; not bad necessarily, but he’d had a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach like something was about to go down. Plus there was a crazy car outside, the kind only someone with some serious cash would have. Peter’s not sure why someone like that would come to a worn-down apartment building when they clearly could be living in the high rises in Manhattan, so he took the acorn as a sign that he’d need some good luck and pocketed it. Never hurts to be careful.</p><p> </p><p>Waving to the GrubHub employee he sees way too often at the neighbors’ door, Peter comes up to his own, grinning at the horseshoe duct-taped to it. He unlocks it, knocks three times, and steps through the threshold. The energy in the apartment is a drastic shift from outside it. He can smell jasmine incense, and he feels a bit lighter, the colors around him a bit brighter. </p><p> </p><p>He kicks off his shoes at the doorway and drops his backpack next to them, calling, “May, I’m home.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hey baby,” May calls back. “How was school?.”</p><p> </p><p>“Pretty boring,” He says as he pets the potted plants on the windowsill (sans Pierre the cactus because he’s a prick (ha ha, he’s funny)) in greeting. “Found an acorn, though, so I figured you’d want to-”</p><p> </p><p>Peter cuts off when he sees that May’s not alone. There’s a man next to her, in a dark grey suit and suavely styled dark hair. </p><p> </p><p>The two turn to look at Peter, and Peter can see the man’s face clearly. </p><p> </p><p>Tony Stark smirks at him, an eyebrow quirked up, and other than a healing black eye, he looks just like he does on TV, all billionaire genius philanthropist playboy charm. </p><p> </p><p>And he’s. He’s sitting in Peter’s living room, munching on what looks to be a piece of date loaf. </p><p> </p><p>Peter suddenly realizes whose fancy car is sitting outside. He quickly thanks the universe for sending that acorn his way.</p><p> </p><p>He looks to May, whose eyes are wide behind her wire-thin glasses frames and eyebrows nearly in her hairline. </p><p> </p><p>“Hello, Mister Parker,” Mister Stark says. “Nice to meet you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Uh,” Peter says, yoinking out his earbuds. “Hi?”</p><p> </p><p>Mister Stark’s smirk grows a little bit. “Hi.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“I uh,” Peter stammers, because his brain is short-circuiting, <em> Tony Freaking Stark is in his living room, </em>“I’m Peter.”</p><p> </p><p>“Tony.” Mister Stark says, popping another piece date loaf in his mouth, and really, the guy shouldn’t torture himself like that, Peter wouldn’t even feel comfortable using that as fertilizer for the garden on the fire escape, much less letting an actual living person eat it.</p><p> </p><p>...Much less Tony Stark. <em> Holy</em>  shit <em>Tony Stark is in his living room. </em></p><p> </p><p>Peter looks at May, who stares at him like he just grew a third head, eyes darting between Peter and Mister Stark, silently pleading for him to please maybe, just maybe, get his shit together. </p><p> </p><p>“What-what are you doing here?” he asks. </p><p> </p><p>Mister Stark swallows. “Well, it’s about time we met. You’ve been getting my emails, right?”</p><p> </p><p>Peter blinks. “Emails…?”</p><p> </p><p>May not-so-subtly drops her face into her hands in exasperation, bracelets clinking. It’s not Peter’s fault! How- how was he supposed to know a full-fledged <em> Avenger </em>was gonna be sitting on his couch eating his aunt’s goddess-forsaken date loaf when he came home from school!</p><p> </p><p>Luckily, Mister Stark takes his bumbling in stride and says, “About the September Foundation. I got your portfolio, thought I’d stop by.”</p><p> </p><p>September Foundation? Peter’s heard of it, but has certainly never ever applied for it. </p><p> </p><p>May, who has emerged from her palmy pillow, shoots Peter a quizzical look. Mister Stark winks. </p><p> </p><p>Oh. Oooooh. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, yeah,” Peter says, and has to fight to fist-pump when his voice barely trembles as his wrist stings. Luckily he’s wearing long sleeves, so May won’t be able to see the lie before he can slap some eucalyptus and a band-aid on it. “Yeah, I remember that.”</p><p> </p><p>“And you didn’t tell me you were applying for the September Foundation?” May asks. "I didn't even know you had a portfolio."</p><p> </p><p>“I, uh, I wanted to surprise you!” Peter says. “‘Cause I know how much you love surprises.”</p><p> </p><p>May squints. Peter pointedly keeps his eyes on Mister Stark, gritting his teeth against yet another slice on his arm.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I looked over the application, and I approved.” Mister Stark says. “So now we’re in business.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter’s gobsmacked. He’s never had the pleasure of using that word, but that’s how he feels right now, in this moment- truly and utterly gobsmacked. His mouth actually drops open and everything. </p><p> </p><p>“I- I- I got it?” He stammers. </p><p> </p><p>“That’s usually what approved means, kiddo.” </p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” Peter says a little faintly, face burning. “But I don’t- I didn't think I'd actually get it. I thought the S.F. was just for STEM fields, I don't know anything about that stuff."</p><p> </p><p>Mister Stark shrugs. “We’re expanding. Something about the arts enriching the world just as much as the sciences, not sure. You’d have to ask Pepper, she’s real big on that stuff, I’m just the money man. Thought your application was impressive."</p><p> </p><p>Oh, goddess, okay, we’re just name-dropping other celebrities, though it makes complete sense for Mister Stark to mention Miss Potts because they’re literally dating and have been for a long time, and really, Peter should maybe just stop thinking before he ends up rocking back and forth in a ball on the kitchen tile. </p><p> </p><p>“But anyways, I’m here to help hash out some more technical things.”</p><p> </p><p>He picks up yet another piece of date loaf. Peter’s starting to think he’s some sort of masochist, because no one without some self-destructive tendencies would willingly eat that.</p><p> </p><p>“I cannot believe that you’re someone’s aunt,” Mister Stark says. </p><p> </p><p>“Well, we come in all shapes and sizes,” May says. </p><p> </p><p>Okay, forget masochist- he's clearly a sadist.</p><p> </p><p> “Yeah, I’m gonna stop you there,” Peter says, very unamused to see someone make moves on May, because even though Peter’s all for sappy love stories, that’s pretty much his mom you’re talking to so kindly bibbidy-bobbity-back-the-fuck-up. “This grant, does it have money involved, or…?”</p><p> </p><p>Peter’s surly deflection isn’t unnoticed, and Mister Stark’s smirk is now turning into a small grin. Peter presses his lips together to keep from scowling.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, yeah,” Mister Stark says. “I’d imagine it’s pretty well funded, look who you’re talking to.”</p><p> </p><p>“Right.”</p><p> </p><p>Mister Stark turns to May. “Could I get five minutes with him?”</p><p> </p><p>May rubs at her rings, giving Mister Stark a small eyebrow raise, suddenly on the defensive. She looks like she's about to protest, but Peter interrupts. </p><p> </p><p>“That’s fine, sir,” Peter says, a little too quickly, a little too loudly. He shoots May a quick glance, trying to push all his thoughts of <em> don’t freak, I’m okay </em>into his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>He apparently does, because she lowers her eyebrow, but keeps a stony look in her narrowed eyes. That’s her <em> holler if you need me </em>look. Peter gives her a small nod. </p><p> </p><p>“That’s fine,” she concedes.</p><p> </p><p>With that, Peter finds himself stepping into his room with a superhero on his trail. </p><p> </p><p>Peter swiftly kicks a pile of laundry under the bed, hearing his door shut and the lock on it click. Peter eyes the lock warily, and has to remind himself that he’s fourteen, not eleven, and he’s pretty sure a man as reputable as Mister Stark isn’t about to do anything. </p><p> </p><p>It turns out, however, that the reputable Mister Stark isn’t above spitting a soggy, half-chewed hunk of date loaf into Peter’s trashcan. </p><p> </p><p>“As walnut date loafs go,” he says, expression strangely passive for someone who just hocked a nasty loogie, “that wasn’t too bad.”</p><p> </p><p>Mister Stark then wanders over to Peter’s desk, eyeing the various crystals strewn upon it. </p><p> </p><p>“Woah-ho,” he says, turning over a piece of tiger’s eye in his fingers. “You superstitious or something, kid? Noticed the horseshoe outside, too. Figured you guys were into that.”</p><p> </p><p>“Uh, no,” Peter says, shaking his wrist so that his hoodie sleeve covers the new cut. “I just. Have a rock collection.”</p><p> </p><p>Mister Stark sets down the tiger’s eye. Raises an eyebrow.</p><p> </p><p>“A rock collection.” He says, deadpan. </p><p> </p><p>Peter tries for a smile but he knows it looks stupid. "Yep."</p><p> </p><p>Mister Stark clearly doesn't buy it, but doesn’t say anything; just catches a glimpse at the various candles that Peter lit earlier that morning. </p><p> </p><p>“Isn’t this a fire hazard?” He mumbles and lets out a quick exhale, the flames disappearing in a puff of smoke. Peter does his best not to inhale too sharply when the energy of the room takes a bit of a dip. <em>Nay, </em>nope,<em> no</em> <em>grazie, </em>he’s re-lighting those the first chance he gets because he is so not gonna have another lecture from May about letting entities into his room.</p><p> </p><p>Mister Stark just pins him with a piercing stare, clearly watching for a reaction. It makes Peter incredibly uncomfortable.</p><p> </p><p>“Listen, sir, I definitely didn’t apply for your grant-” </p><p> </p><p>Aaaaand he’s cut off by Mister Stark putting a hand up. </p><p> </p><p>“See, Pete, I think we need to cut the pleasantries.” He takes out his cell phone, taps the screen, and a holographic projection pops up. It’s dark, and pretty fuzzy, but Peter recognizes it almost instantly- it’s the warehouse from the drug ring a month or so back. It’d been an absolute fucking mess to take care of, and Peter had exactly four mental breakdowns doing it and- wait. <em> How did Mister Stark get this footage? </em></p><p> </p><p>“And this is where it really gets interesting,” he says as armed men stand around a pile of crates. “Because right as the baddies are about to do their thing, a little eight-legged problem shows up. A real mandible in my side, since it takes out the camera feed.”</p><p> </p><p>True to his word, a little Charlie spider crawls its way onto the camera lens and starts to spin a web in the shape of one of Peter’s sigils. The feed fizzes out and the screen goes black.</p><p> </p><p>“But that’s not all,” Mister Stark says, swiping the screen. Now it shows a picture-  it’s the alleyway from a few weeks back, the one where Peter set up his scrying spell. </p><p> </p><p>A tiny grainy Peter kneels in the middle, the hood over his head and face mask marring his features.</p><p> </p><p>“Y’see, right after this, the cops are called with an anonymous tip. They raid the place, and guess what they find.”</p><p> </p><p>Another swipe. Now the camera feed is restored, the sigil having dissolved when its magic ran out, and all the armed men are now decidedly unarmed and sprawled haphazardly on the ground, fast asleep.</p><p> </p><p>“Crazy, how that happens,” Mister Stark says with a piercing gaze. “And a quick peek back outside-”</p><p> </p><p>Swipe. Peter is now gone, the marks hadn’t quite faded yet and still faintly glowing a bit from the last of the magic. </p><p> </p><p>Peter hadn’t checked for cameras near the alley. He’s so stupid.</p><p> </p><p>“A question of the rhetorical variety: that’s your handiwork, isn’t it?”</p><p> </p><p>Peter’s mouth is suddenly very dry. Perhaps it’s because all the moisture in his body has gone to his palms. </p><p> </p><p>“Um,” Peter says, because he’s fucking <em> eloquent. </em>“No?”</p><p> </p><p>A sting, on his knuckle this time. He clenches his fist.</p><p> </p><p>Mister Stark stares at him. </p><p> </p><p>“That’s all online, right?” Peter asks. “You know how people fake videos.”</p><p> </p><p>Mister Stark narrows his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>“Like CGI in movies?” Peter mutters lamely. </p><p> </p><p>Now an eyebrow is raised. Peter lasts exactly zero-point-two seconds before he caves.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, fine, it’s me,” Peter blurts, “I did it.”</p><p> </p><p>Mister Stark smiles smugly, and Peter’s face burns. He buries it in his hands, pressing his fingertips into his eyes. Give him a shovel- it’ll make digging this hole for himself easier.</p><p> </p><p>“Gotta say, kid, your setup’s impressive. How’re you doing it? Neural interface? Drones? Chemical warfare?”</p><p> </p><p>Peter furrows his brow, peeking over his fingers. “Chemical warfare? Was that just a guess?” He asks, because he’s just confessed to being a vigilante who is very clearly under the microscope that is the eye of one <em> Tony Fucking Stark AKA Iron Man AKA an Avenger </em> and all his braincells are panicking like the mini Bobs that one <em> SpongeBob </em> episode.</p><p> </p><p>Mister Stark gestures back to the hologram. “The spiders, the freaky lightshow, all of it. What’s your secret, kid?”</p><p> </p><p>Peter rubs at his face. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s,” he says, “it’s not exactly what you’d call conventional.”</p><p> </p><p>“Um, not sure if you’ve seen the news in your twelve years of life-”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m fourteen but pop off I guess,” Peter hears his mouth say, and y’know what? Fuck it! Why not!! Forget the shovel, Peter’s digging this hole with his bare hands. Just bury him in it. Here lies Peter Benjamin Parker, August 2002 to May 2016. May he rest the way he lived: with his foot in his mouth. All his belongings go to May Parker and Ned Leeds, as stated in his last will and testament.</p><p> </p><p>Mister Stark continues as if he hadn’t been interrupted, “but conventional isn’t exactly my style. So spill, gimme the four-one-one.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter blinks at the very old slang and takes a big, deep breath.</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t exactly explain it,” he says, “but I can show you.”</p><p> </p><p>He rushes over to his desk with a quick <em> excuse me, sorry, </em>that’s very un-New York of him but one does not simply push aside Tony Stark, and snags a piece of paper and a pencil. </p><p> </p><p>“This is just a small example,” he says, and writes out a message on the page:</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>this room will become cold</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Peter then takes out all the necessary letters and puts them into his number chart, and from there he draws out his new sigil. Giving it a good three taps, the sigil glows, and Peter grins as the temperature in the room dips several degrees. Goosebumps rise on his skin, and he sees them where Mister Stark’s suit jacket doesn’t quite cover his wrist. </p><p> </p><p>The man doesn’t quite look like his socks have been blown off, but Peter imagines that’s what it is. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s magic,” Peter says. </p><p> </p><p>Mister Stark nods. “So you’re what, a modern, American Harry Potter?”</p><p> </p><p>Peter can’t stop his eye roll. </p><p> </p><p><em> “No,” </em>he says, “this is generations worth of tradition and power. It’s not some TERF’s fantasy world!”</p><p> </p><p>Mister Stark puts his hands up in mock surrender, a playful smile on his lips. “Woah, tiger. I can see I struck a nerve, my bad.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter just scowls. </p><p> </p><p>“So you just whip up some symbols, and make things happen?”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s not all of it, but yeah. I can do that.”</p><p> </p><p>“And the spiders? They your mascot or something?”</p><p> </p><p>“They’re not <em> mascots,” </em>Peter grumbles, lowkey offended. “They’re my familiars.”</p><p> </p><p>As if knowing it’s being talked about, a hobo spider crawls its way up his desk and over to him, legs scuttling against the surface. </p><p> </p><p>Peter holds out his hand, letting it make its way up and rest in his palm. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey, buddy,” he says softly and rubs its abdomen like one would pet a dog instead of a venomous spider. “I know, it’s cold. Gettin’ all chilly, aren’t you? Can’t have that, it’s not even June.”</p><p> </p><p>Mister Stark watches with fascination. “Huh,” he mumbles. </p><p> </p><p>Peter leans over to his candles and gives them a slow steady exhale, a new flame sparking on the wicks. He holds out his hands and lets the hobo spider gently make its way towards the candles. </p><p> </p><p>“Please don’t make a web in my desk again, I don’t wanna have to dig out more dead flies,” Peter calls after it as it disappears behind them.</p><p> </p><p>Mister Stark watches it go. </p><p> </p><p>“That's,” he says, and if Peter didn’t know better than he’d have to say he was trying to find his words, “interesting.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter shrugs. “It’s just my life,” he says. “Runs in the family.”</p><p> </p><p>He cocks his head and bends his ear forward so that his Mark shows. </p><p> </p><p>“Aunt May’s got one too, on her wrist. She taught me everything I know.”</p><p> </p><p>“So does Aunt Hottie also go out in her pajamas fighting crime? Gotta say, that’d be a sight to see.”</p><p> </p><p>Blatantly ignoring that really gross implication, Peter’s head shoots up. </p><p> </p><p>“No,” He snaps, maybe a bit too aggressively. He drops his voice, afraid she’ll overhear. “She doesn’t. And she doesn’t know I do this, either.”</p><p> </p><p>“Which begs another question,” Mister Stark says quietly. “Why’re you doing this at all? There have to be better things a kid like you could be doing instead of saying abra cadabra and sending criminals to jail.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter hesitates, because that’s definitely not a question he’d been expecting. </p><p> </p><p>“C’mon, kid, what’s your M.O.? What gets you out of that twin bed in the morning?”</p><p> </p><p>There’s a lot of reasons. Flash at school. Skip. May, stressed and lonely and putting her grief on the back burner to keep herself and Peter afloat. </p><p> </p><p>...Ben.</p><p> </p><p>These are all things he couldn’t stop because he was too weak. He’d been so wrapped up in trying to be normal when he’s never been normal, never in his whole life. </p><p> </p><p>“Because,” Peter starts, “because I’ve been me my whole life, and I’m lucky enough to be the one who has these powers. I can do all these things,” he gestures to the sigil, “and I spent a lot of my life wasting it.”</p><p> </p><p><em> With great power comes great responsibility, </em>Ben had said, even when he was lying in a puddle of his own blood, dying. </p><p> </p><p>“I weave protection braids, make sigils, give spell jars to people who need them. These are things that I do because I can. And when you can do the things that I can, but you don’t, and then the bad things happen…”</p><p> </p><p>The college student upstairs whose boyfriend beat the living hell out of him until he’d attempted suicide. Mister Martinez, who had to be buried next to his late wife because he tried to drink his grief away. The nest of baby birds some asshole knocked out of the tree destroyed by a stray, babies reduced to nothing but streaks of red. </p><p> </p><p>“They happen because of you.”</p><p> </p><p>“So what, you’re looking out for the little guy?” Mister Stark asks. </p><p> </p><p>“Anyone who needs it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Pretty altruistic of you, kid.”</p><p> </p><p>“The world isn’t kind,” Peter says. “So I have to be. May says it’s to help keep some cosmic balance. What you put out is what you get back, y’know?”</p><p> </p><p>Mister Stark looks at Peter for a long moment, contemplative. His eyes brim with some kind emotion, but it’s hidden by a thick layer of aloofness. </p><p> </p><p>He’s a hard man to read. </p><p> </p><p>Then he awkwardly pats Peter’s shoulder, palm a bit too sweaty for his calm face. “You ever been to Germany, kid?”</p><p> </p><p>Peter blinks. “Huh?”</p><p> </p><p>“Y’know, Germany, home of strudel, hot dogs, beer, though that last one is a definite no from me, can’t have your ridiculously gorgeous aunt strangle me cause I let you get tipsy.”</p><p> </p><p>“I- no? I’ve barely been out of New York. I don’t even have a passport.”</p><p> </p><p>“Damn, that’s a real shame. We’re gonna fix that.”</p><p> </p><p>At this, Peter squawks out a shrill, “What! No! I can’t go to <em> Germany!” </em></p><p> </p><p>Mister Stark gives him a weird look. “Why not?”</p><p> </p><p>Peter blinks. “I’ve got- school,” he says, and oh great, he thought making himself look stupid in front of Iron Man was already checked off his list of things he didn’t think he’d be doing today, but apparently not. </p><p> </p><p>Mr. Stark shakes his head, eyes wide with disbelief. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that," and then stands to make his way to the door. </p><p> </p><p>“I can’t just drop out of school!” Peter cries, standing with him. </p><p> </p><p>“Don’t be a drama queen, you’ll just be coming with me for a little Avengers work.” With that, Mister Stark wraps his hand around the doorknob. “Just gotta get it approved with your beautiful aunt and-”</p><p> </p><p>“No!” Peter snaps, and there’s suddenly a wave of spiders circling the doorknob, shooting out webs so that the man’s hand is stuck. Peter can see the tell-tale violin shapes of brown recluses among them. They perch, looking ready to pounce at a moment's notice, almost hungrily.</p><p> </p><p>Mister Stark looks at the silent threat and looks at him, wide-eyed. </p><p> </p><p>Peter swallows. “You can’t tell Aunt May,” he says. “She can’t know.”</p><p> </p><p>Looking between Peter and the onslaught of very angry, very dangerous arachnids that came to his aid, Mister Stark looks a bit put upon. Then he sighs, shoulders heaving dramatically and eyes rolling up to the ceiling. </p><p> </p><p>“Okay, Spider-Kid,” he says. “We’ll figure something out.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter feels himself sag with relief. “Thank you,” he breathes.</p><p> </p><p>Mister Stark gestures to the webbing. “Yeah, yeah, now get me out of this.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, jeez, yeah, sorry,” Peter says, and scrambles to tell the spiders <em> thanks so much, guys, you’re great but you don’t have to bite him he wasn’t gonna hurt anyone, </em>ripping the webs off of the knob and skin as they slowly retreat back into the crevices of his room.</p>
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